


Sidetrack

by yeaka



Series: Eriador Lights [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aromantic Character, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8842426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Elrohir and Meludir make the best of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is a side-story for [Chary Champagne](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7522141/), wherein Elrohir and Meludir work at a sex club, but it’s not necessary to read that for this.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The bus squeaks to a stop, and Meludir prepares to stand, but the second he’s on his sore feet, Elrohir’s scooping him up. He’s lifted easily off the grating and carried past the driver’s rolling eyes, out the automatic doors, and down onto the pavement. Safely nestled in Elrohir’s strong arms, Meludir calls over Elrohir’s broad shoulder, “Thank you!”

The bus is already rolling away. Elrohir notes, “You did that on the way there, do you always do that?”

“What? Thank the bus driver?” 

“Yeah.”

“When I remember.”

Elrohir smiles, croons, “My considerate boyfriend,” and pecks his forehead. Meludir giggles at the contact and lets Elrohir carry him down the street, ignoring all the looks they get—it’s early in the evening, still bright outside, warm and crisp, and the sidewalk’s full. Elrohir navigates it easily and adds, “Sorry again about the car, by the way—it was supposed to be fixed by now, but when I called this morning, I just got a bunch of excuses.”

In this case, it wouldn’t have helped much. They would’ve still had to walk at their destination. Meludir shrugs and says, “It’s okay. I’m sorry we can’t go to the hedge maze after all.”

“ _I’m_ sorry—I planned that date for _you_. ...How can you be too uncomfortable to walk in heels, anyway? You work in heels!” And he probably doesn’t need them; Elrohir isn’t _that_ much taller. The right heels just level them off. But Meludir likes the way he looks in them and, better yet, likes the way others look at him in them. 

But, he tries to explain, “These are new. I had no idea they’d rub against my ankles so much! The ones at the club are comfy—”

“They are _not_ ,” Elrohir scoffs. 

“Mine are! You’re supposed to get them adjusted; Erestor always pays for it.” 

“I think he’s still mad at me for what I did to that camisole.”

“You should’ve told him first it was the wrong size.”

“I didn’t want to cause trouble...” 

They finally turn off the sidewalk, into the large lobby of the Imladris hotel. Elrohir maneuvers the glass doors easy enough, and Meludir clings all the tighter to Elrohir’s shirt and wonders if he should get down and just walk. He could probably make it at least to a room, especially with Elrohir propping him up, but this is just so much _nicer_. Elrohir doesn’t seem to have any trouble with his weight. As they cross the luxurious interior, Meludir sighs, “I really am sorry—I was looking forward to getting lost with you.”

Elrohir says, “It’s cool,” and couldn’t sound finer. “I only come up with these cool dates to get into your shorts anyway.”

Meludir lightly slaps Elrohir’s shoulder and tries not to laugh too loud in the formal setting. Even though they’re already ruining it. He dressed for a hot day in the sun in mini-shorts and a loose tank, not for an expensive hotel. They reach the front desk, where an attractive brunette woman that might be Elrohir’s sister is busily typing away at a computer. Elrohir chirps, “Any rooms free that I can bang my super cute boyfriend in?” Meludir groans. The receptionist already looks aggravated.

She doesn’t even answer. Just rolls her wheeled chair across the enclosed space to a rack of keys, grabs one, and tosses it through the air. Elrohir miraculously catches it with the hand supporting Meludir’s back. Meludir wonders if he should say something like ‘nice to meet you,’ but then Elrohir’s already carrying him off. Elrohir checks his keys, and then they’re getting in an elevator. As the doors shut them into privacy, Meludir hums, “So you still think you’re getting sex even though you didn’t do the date part?”

“Nah, was just bragging,” Elrohir says, maneuvering towards the wall panel sporting two lines of glowing buttons. “Can you hit floor three?” Meludir does, and after the short beep it makes, the whirring sound of movement comes, and Elrohir continues, “I’m just going to comfort my poor, gorgeous boyfriend and his delicate ankles.”

The doors whoosh open. Elrohir steps out, and Meludir silently savours being called ‘gorgeous’ by such a handsome man. He knows he’s reasonably good-looking—he does well enough at the club—but Elrohir is _really good-looking_ , and Meludir always likes being treated like a prince. 

He takes the keys out of Elrohir’s hand to open the door Elrohir stops at, and then Elrohir marches through and brings Meludir to the couch in the living room section, depositing him gently onto the cushions. It’s technically more comfortable, but Meludir still misses Elrohir’s arms. He starts untying the twisted ribbons of his new shoes while Elrohir tosses the remote for the television next to him and announces, “I’ll be right back.” When Elrohir bends down to kiss Meludir’s forehead, Meludir tilts up to connect their lips instead. Elrohir presses forward instantly, already more heated than it was clearly meant to be, but Meludir doesn’t complain, just opens his mouth and mewls at the slick tongue that dives in. He gives it a little suck, willing it to stay, but Elrohir still pulls away after and admonishes through a broad grin, “Stop it, you minx. I’m trying to be good here.” Meludir sticks out his tongue, but Elrohir’s already pulling back to head off. He disappears through the door of the suite before Meludir’s got his first shoe off. 

The glass coffee table between the couch and television looks too nice to prop his feet on—the whole hotel is really more than Meludir could afford on his own. Elrohir seems to get free rooms whenever he wants: it’s part of owning a family business. Meludir’s still conscious of the niceness as he shifts on the couch and fiddles with the remote. The first show that comes on is a daytime drama, and as he probably won’t be watching long enough to learn the characters, he flips through channels until he finds a court show. At least then there’s only three parties to know, and he thinks he already recognizes the judge. Then it’s just a matter of settling back and trying to concentrate on the screen instead of the swell of anticipation inside him.

He really would’ve liked to go to the maze. He would’ve liked to chase Elrohir down amidst towering hedges, safely hidden from other patrons, and deliberately found a dead-end to make out in, then climbed on Elrohir’s shoulders to try and see over it all. It would’ve been fun, but so are all the dates they’ve had, even the ones like this that wind up bungled before they’ve even started. He shoots his shoes a bitter look—they’re beautiful, yes, but it seems silly that they could’ve made it all the way to the shelf without _someone_ noticing how dreadfully unsupportive they are. He can handle flimsy shoes, but when they rub like that, he really can’t afford a bruise—he’s often on his feet all night, and recently, he’s been trying to learn how to work the pole, and if he’s going to be on stage, he really has to get it right...

The judge bangs her gavel and banishes both plaintiff and defendant. Meludir has no idea who won. He tries to listen when the narrator announces the next case, but an elf in the audience has long, dark hair like Elrohir, and it makes Meludir finger his own honey-coloured ponytail over his shoulder and daydream about last week when Elrohir braided them together. It was so _cute_. Elrohir’s cute. And sometimes Meludir thinks that even if Elrohir can’t love him back, at least, not romantically, so long as Elrohir keeps _being cute_ , the way Meludir feels might be enough, because he’s really starting to love—

“We only had vanilla,” Elrohir announces as he strolls back in, shutting the door firmly behind him. There’s a carton of ice cream in one hand, a spoon pressed to the lid. “Which doesn’t seem right, since you’re anything but vanilla...”

Even though he wasn’t particularly hungry, Meludir insists, “Vanilla’s fine.” The second Elrohir’s within range, Meludir takes it out of his hands, peels off the lid, and happily dives in. The suite’s just warm enough for the first cold scoop to have a bit of a sting to it, but the delicious sweetness more than makes up for that, and Meludir makes a deliberately pleased noise around that mouthful to let Elrohir know he did well.

Sidling onto the couch next to Meludir, Elrohir chuckles and kisses Meludir’s cheek. The ice cream’s already opened and half empty, probably from Elrohir’s penthouse suite. They don’t go there much out of respect for his siblings, which is probably just as well—Meludir’s not sure he could stop himself from jumping Elrohir the second they left the elevator. For now, he contents himself with ice cream, more than enough comfort to ease the hurt of his ankles, while Elrohir grabs him by the middle and gently drags him over into Elrohir’s lap. Meludir squirms into his new seat and melts back against Elrohir’s taut stomach and hard abs. The t-shirt he’s wearing is just as thin as Meludir’s tank and doesn’t hide a thing. If they have to spend an evening in, this is just how he’d like to do it. 

For the first few minutes, they just watch the case in quiet, Meludir over indulging in little scoops of ice cream and Elrohir wrapping tightly around his middle. Gradually, Elrohir’s hands start to stray, and Meludir coyly doesn’t say anything or note aloud the erection he can feel digging into his ass. The first kiss he gets is on his shoulder, while Elrohir smoothes warm palms across his midsection. Elrohir nibbles a fluttering trail from his bicep to the jut of his neck, fingers straying underneath his tank, across his stomach, up to his chest—Meludir clamps down on the spoon and tries not to moan when Elrohir flicks his nipples. Elrohir teases them both at once, tugging gently and rubbing in soft circles, while licking up his throat to kiss the shell of his ear. Meludir isn’t hearing a word the judge is saying, but he pretends he is just to further the game. He relishes the contact, the attention. Elrohir pets his way back down and slips under the hem of Meludir’s shorts—Meludir’s glad he didn’t wear a belt to hold them down.

He didn’t wear underwear either. He knew this was coming, one way or another, and knew he’d have to wash the shorts right away anyway. Elrohir’s hand slides right between Meludir’s thighs, stretching out the denim and gliding under to cup Meludir tightly. The ice cream suddenly isn’t enough to combat the heat rushing elsewhere. Meludir lets his head fall back on Elrohir’s shoulder, lets his legs spread just that little bit more, and lets a groan tumble out of his throat. Elrohir kneads him firmly and kisses his cheek.

It would be so easy to turn around now and ride Elrohir on the couch, fuck themselves out right here, but Meludir was enjoying the illusion of a quiet night in and forces himself to straighten. He takes a shaking scoop, but as soon as the spoon’s at his mouth, Elrohir squeezes him tight, and Meludir smears some of the goopy liquid down his chin. He licks it up before it can dribble lower, and Elrohir starts rubbing up and down, one indented finger drawing right between his lips. He can feel himself growing wet, warm, quivering, and he fights not to buck into Elrohir’s hand as he mutters, faux-casually, “You don’t have to do that, babe...”

Elrohir answers just as pleasantly, “But I love playing with your pussy.” He squeezes again for emphasis, and Meludir moans happily and smiles wide. He figures that absolves him of immediately returning the favour, so he just sinks back and lets himself enjoy it. 

There’s a lavish ease to this. The television drones on in the background, and Meludir mildly watches it, slowly licking ice cream off his spoon: it’s easier to do that with small chunks than risk large scoops. Elrohir keeps kneading him, then strokes one finger down his slit, worming in, and Meludir arches and gasps as Elrohir circles his hole. By the time that first blunt fingertip pushes in, he’s more than wet enough to take it, already a little loose, but Elrohir goes slowly anyway. He pushes gradually in, deeper and deeper, then crooks his finger to stroke the sides of Meludir’s passage, and Meludir accidentally drops the spoon into the carton and lets out a ragged moan. Head lolling back onto Elrohir’s shoulder again, Meludir lifts the carton and asks, “Want some too?”

Elrohir nips the point of his ear and purrs, “How about I lick some out of your pretty cunt?” A shiver twists down Meludir’s spine. He nods and rolls his hips into Elrohir’s hand. 

Chuckling fondly, Elrohir kisses Meludir’s cheek and slides his hand away. Meludir whines at the loss, even though he knows it’ll be worth it for what’s coming. Elrohir grabs him by the waist and gently lifts him off. The couch doesn’t feel as comfortable after Elrohir’s warm thighs, but Meludir lets himself be settled back down anyway.

Elrohir pushes back the coffee table to kneel down between Meludir’s legs, then grabs at his shorts and starts tugging. Meludir puts the carton aside to help shove them off. Elrohir makes no comment about the lack of underwear, probably because Meludir’s not the only one. As soon as the shorts are off, Elrohir leans up for a kiss that Meludir lunges down for. He could do this all day. Elrohir kisses like the professional he’s become, but he does leave too soon, instead ducking down to push Meludir’s legs wide open. Meludir fetches the ice cream. 

By now, it’s half-melted, unable to withstand the summer air, or maybe just the steam that they inevitably create together. Meludir fishes the spoon out, having to lick off the handle, but Elrohir grabs the whole carton and tilts it, until the vanilla syrup is hitting Meludir’s navel and oozing down his front. The coldness makes him gasp, and he gets a momentary flicker of worry for the couch, but they’ll clean it up after. The semi-liquid trickles down between his thighs, through a few honey hairs and into the valley below, but before it can hit the couch, Elrohir lunges forward and drags his tongue right up the front—Meludir gasps louder and bends forward, clutching at Elrohir’s hair. Elrohir sets the carton down and starts eagerly lapping up the mess, only succeeding in spreading it around, thinner, mingled with spit, and thoroughly arousing Meludir in the process. Elrohir’s always good with his tongue, and Meludir always loves having it there, having it anywhere, but especially _right there_. Elrohir drags a long line up the middle, thrusting his tongue between Meludir’s lips, over the little bundle of nerves hidden at the top, and diverts to suck the ice cream off his inner thighs. Meludir just groans and clutches tighter to Elrohir’s soft hair. He’s already shuddering and tries not to hump Elrohir’s face. He _tries_ to be good. But Elrohir’s got a wicked tongue and pushes him too far. 

A few more savage licks, and Meludir’s sure the ice cream must be gone, but Elrohir doesn’t stop. He curls his tongue between Meludir’s folds and drags it around, stroking at his inner walls and flaying across his entrance, then brings up two thumbs to help spread him open. Meludir cries out when Elrohir’s tongue pushes inside. Elrohir buries himself right in and licks as deep as he can, while Meludir writhes and squirms and curls in around him. The television’s completely forgotten. Meludir’s drowning it out with his own heavy breathing and the slick squelching sounds of Elrohir’s tongue swirling in and out. Elrohir fucks him with it, mouth sucking around the outside. When Meludir breaks and bucks forward, Elrohir grabs his hips and holds him still. He trembles and fights it, but Elrohir’s stronger, and he’s left helplessly pinned in place while his amazing boyfriend thoroughly ravishes his body. 

He has decent stamina, but Elrohir already got him worked up, and Elrohir’s just too _good at this_ , and Meludir really, _really likes him_ , and it’s all too much—Meludir comes with a high-pitched scream and his fists tight in Elrohir’s hair. Elrohir licks him right through it, milking out every spasm left. Meludir’s a dizzy wreck.

Even after he’s spent, he whines when Elrohir pulls away, leaving him wet and sticky. Elrohir gives him a few fluttering kisses between his legs, but Meludir just wants to shove him back in for another round. Knowing Elrohir, there’ll still be plenty of rounds to go. He smiles up at Meludir with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and Meludir absently scoops some ice cream onto one finger, then smears it across Elrohir’s lips, just to improve the taste when he goes in for a kiss. The ice cream doesn’t have a chance: it melts instantly away on contact. 

They’re not even done the kiss when Elrohir stands up. He fiddles around along the cushions, and Meludir would help if he could think what Elrohir was going for, but then he hears the television click off and thinks it must’ve been the remote. They’re still kissing when Elrohir hikes Meludir back up into his arms, still naked from the waist down. As Meludir’s carried out of the living room, he giggles and asks against Elrohir’s mouth, “Where are we going now?”

“To clean you up and fuck in the shower,” Elrohir answers, which sounds just about perfect. 

But Meludir says, “Wait, wait,” anyway, and Elrohir halts.

Reaching back for the couch, Meludir says, “Ice cream.”

So Elrohir laughs and carries him back, letting him scoop up the carton before resuming their date with the washroom.


End file.
